Our Army's Saint
by Miss Manic Dysfunction
Summary: Lucius watched her go with a touch of envy. Once she was away from him, she would forget what happened. Lucius, though, could not escape it: his friend was dead, and he didn't have the spirit to cry.


Our Army's Saint

Pairings: implied Legault/Isadora. Any other romantic ties are all in your imagination.

Rating: T, for blood, language, and a sexual comment (please tell me if it should be K+, I'm hazy on this)

Summary: Lucius watched her go with a touch of envy. Once she was away from him, she would forget what happened. Lucius, though, could not escape it: his friend was dead, and he couldn't even cry.

* * *

Dawn had come. Lucius doused the fire with the bucket of ash sitting near the hearth. Then, he pulled back the soft cotton sheets on his bed. Ostia's guest rooms were fine, perhaps too fine for his tastes, but Hector insisted that everyone get a good rest. They all needed it, especially since the castle had been invaded shortly upon arriving.

But despite his exhaustion, Lucius could not bring himself to sleep. He tossed and turned, threw off the blankets, changed his position on the bed, and even tried sleeping on the floor before getting up due to sheer frustration. By now the sun was up, and outside, the knights of Ostia were beginning to make up for their losses. Lucius stepped to the window to watch. A year ago, he would have winced at each practice sword's blow. But now, he felt nothing. A wooden sword was nothing compared to the wounds that a real sword could inflict.

He could only watch for so long. Then he glanced back to the messy bed, decided that it was useless to try to sleep, and tried to force himself to make the bed. Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find the heart. Sighing, Lucius left the room without his boots, wearing his tabard without a belt. He idly remembered how he used to be lashed for appearing without his robes in proper care. Well, Bishop Redley couldn't use the paddle here, now could he?

He passed Serra, hoping for the first time that she wouldn't speak to him. But she grabbed his sleeve, and he turned to her with a scowl that was so uncharacteristic of him that she recoiled a bit.

"Lucius," her voice was hesitant, "you shouldn't blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault."

He forced a smile, just for her. "Thank you, Sister Serra." They both knew he didn't mean it, but neither acknowledged it. A long silence followed, mostly filled with Serra trying to find something to say and finding nothing. Finally, she just waved and shuffled off. Lucius watched her go with a touch of envy. Once she was away from him, she would forget what happened. Lucius, though, could not escape it.

* * *

_His blood was the same color as his hair. It oozed from his shoulder, trickled from his skull, dribbled out from between his lips. Never before had Lucius seen so much blood. Yet he could not heal him, nor could he defend him. And Lucius, helpless, tried to shout, to warn him, but as hard as he strained, no sound left his lips._

_The last time Lucius saw him, Raven turned back, his last axe in hand. "Isadora! Take Lucius and go!"_

"_And leave you behind?"_

"_I'll be fine. I just need you to get Lucius to safety for me." Raven smiled; Lucius had seen that smile before. It was the same grin that Kent wore as he had charged Lloyd Reed: the smile that a warrior gets when he's certain he'll be dying. To see it on Raven's face... Lucius couldn't help but root himself to the spot, the look on his face attempting to convey what he could not with words._

_Isadora, though, was strong enough to lift him, and Lucius didn't have the nerve to jump from a galloping war-horse. He took one last glance over his shoulder. That was the last time Lucius saw Raven alive._

_When his body was recovered from the field, Lucius wasn't even able to react. _

* * *

According to Legault, Priscilla blamed Lucius for what happened. Lucius didn't think ill of her for it; he blamed himself for it, too. It was Isadora's opinion that really made Lucius miserable. She blamed Raven, saying he could have asked for elixirs instead of insisting that Lucius keep them. She also blamed Matthew, who had been there at the start and had vanished part of the way through. If he had only let them know that he was going to get more supplies before darting off, Raven would still be alive.

"Though really," Legault said, adjusting his headband, "they've got it all wrong. No, the real blame goes to Nergal. If it weren't for him, none of this would have happened, and the Fang would still be just the way it should be."

Lucius, as he had been doing throughout the entire conversation, remained silent and just listened to Legault talk. The fact that Legault was willing to talk to him without patronizing him or spewing clichés was a relief. Yet Lucius couldn't bring himself to speak back. Speaking back would mean he would have to listen to himself, and he hated himself right now.

"Or maybe everyone's to blame. Or no one." The assassin shrugged. "Saria's pissed, though. Stay away from her. She'll do the same thing to you as she did to Isadora." Lucius didn't even need to ask, because Legault was used to having one-sided conversations. "She came across Izzy earlier and pitched a fit. Called her an idiot for not staying near the main body of the army, said that she couldn't work if everyone was all spread out... I've never seen her this livid."

"I've never seen her angry," Lucius murmured.

Legault smirked. "Talking to me now, then? And I'm talking about Saria, not Isadora."

"I've never seen Saria angry." Indeed, Lucius couldn't imagine that Saria ever got mad. She got blunt at times, and certainly felt stress, but outright anger?

"I certainly have," Legault said, chuckling. "She's a woman of Bern, Lucius. She's got a temper. All of 'em do." The assassin leaned against the archway, staring out into the courtyard where he and Lucius could be, if the monk would just stand up and move into the nice warm sunlight.

Being a topic other than the night before, Lucius latched onto that sentence. "How do you know Saria's from Bern?"

"The Fang has eyes and ears just about everywhere." Legault sank to a sit, giving up on the dream of warm, warm sunlight. "There's a noble in Bern by the name of Lord Eldrin Faine, the Count of Laske. He would be nothing but another country lord, if not for the fact that he was a brilliant tactician."

"What does this have to do with Saria?"

"I'm getting there. Now, he had an apprentice—a young woman, of all things. Barely twelve when he took her under his wing. Count Laske, he was one of the nobles that the Fang trusted, and he would often give Brendan Reed tactical advice, or just general knowledge. I was trusted to handle some of the correspondence. Not often, no, but when the Four Fangs were busy, it went to me."

"So you knew Saria before this?"

"Her name and her face only." Legault shrugged. "It wasn't like we were close. She was only a kid then. 'Sides, I think another man had claims on her." Lucius would have been happy for a change of subject, but Legault was reminiscing about happier times, and he did not have the heart to interrupt. "The Lord Raiden Faine used to tease her something awful. She once threw an inkpot against a wall while I was there. I expect she was trying to hit Lord Raiden with it. Count Laske was humiliated."

Legault's laughter managed to bring a smile to Lucius's face. Unlike the smile he had forced earlier, this one was genuine. The assassin caught onto this; he lightly punched Lucius's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "I knew I'd get you to grin. It's not good, seeing our saint so miserable." The monk flushed, then looked away. Not one to let him go humiliated, Legault returned his hand to his lap and sighed. "Serra was the real reason I came. If you spooked her to silence, well, something had to be wrong."

Lucius licked his lips, blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "But you and I..."

"Don't talk much?" Legault snorted. "You've healed me a dozen times, and you were rarely far from Raven... And..." The smile vanished from his face. "I know how it feels to lose someone you love." He placed a hand on Lucius's shoulder. The two made eye contact, Lucius quivering, Legault stoic. "It hurts like a bitch, Lucius. But promise me this—promise me you won't dwell on it forever."

"But—but I don't know—"

"Lucius." The monk's eyes had broken contact, but they returned at Legault's command. "I'm not saying to forget. I'm saying this: Raven died for you to live. Don't make him regret the decision, Lucius. Mourn his loss, and never forget him, but don't spend the rest of your life wishing things could be different."

Up until then, Lucius had not cried. He hadn't known what to feel. But now he could not stop the sobs. Legault allowed the monk to cry on his shoulder, and even put an arm around him—an action that made Lucius think of Raven. Raven had never tried to silence him when he cried. For a moment, Lucius pretended that this was Cornwell, and Raven was the one next to him. And in that moment, he felt happier than he had felt in the past day.

* * *

As Lucius cried, Legault couldn't care less if someone passed by. He was comforting someone who needed it, and anyone who teased him for it would be hung. Yet he soon grew to eat that thought, as he caught sight of a gorgeous blue-haired figure in a sweeping silver dress. He didn't have time to say a word—Isadora merely gave him a look of disapproval, then swept off to take care of sending her report to Lady Eleanora.

_Looks like I'll be sleeping alone tonight…_

* * *

**Ahahah. So. This was intended to be a Lucius/Karel fan fiction. But then Legault stole the show. Silly Legault.**

**Not sure if I like the ending. But I guess it suits. I had an alternate ending, one of Raven and Lucius when they were younger, but as I said, Legault stole the show like he stole Isadora from Harken.**

**Needs critique. If you can give it to me, I would be VEEERY happy!**


End file.
